Losing an Angel
by Sivilian
Summary: Francis loses his son, Mathieu, to Arthur, and Mathieu cries, for he doesn't have Tokoda, his beloved bear, by his side.
1. Deck of Cards

o~~~~~o~~~~~o~~~~~o

Francis Bonnefoy loved his little boy very much. He showered him with gifts of everything imaginable. Silken clothes, wooden trains, and stuffed bears. His little Mathieu was so very polite. He was modest, innocent, and oh so angelic. Francis ignored all the women who invited him to regal and not-so-regal parties. All he wanted to do was watch his son grow up in the best way possible.

o~~~~~o~~~~~o~~~~~o

"Papa! Papa!" Mathieu called for his father.

"Yes, son?" Francis rushed to his son's side.

"I found a pretty butterfry." The little boy lifted his hand in the direction of an azure butterfly.

"Ah, you did, Mathieu! You have quite an eye!" He ruffled the boy's hair affectionately.

"Oh, thank you, Papa." Mathieu blushed as he did quite often.

Mathieu reached into his trouser's pocket and pulled out a tiny notepad. With a stubby excuse-for-a-pencil, the little boy sketched the butterfly. Its antennae were pointing down and the wings were folded. The fragile legs spread out on a leaf. Francis admired the detail his son put into everything.

"Sir…" a servant brought him a letter.

"Yesh?" He patted his son on the back. Francis stood up and took the letter. It was from… a friend.

_Dear Francis Bonnefoy,_

_Remember that night where we played a friendly game of cards? Whoever wins may take possession of the loser's most valuable object. I won with my royal flush. I have been contemplating for many years what I shall take from you. I have decided._

Francis frowned. Surely, this evil man was going to take all of his carriages and luscious furniture, for that man never splurged in such 'waste'. To Francis, his little boy was more valuable than all of that on his estate and off. He read on.

_I have decided that my prize for winning cards shall be that boy of yours. Matthew. I should be arriving at your estate in a day or three by the time you receive this letter._

_~Arthur Kirkland_

Francis waved the servant away. He held his hand to his heart. _Nonononon! I have only had my dear Mathieu for a short time! _Tears swelled in his eyes. The sunlight became too bright. His garden became to green.

"Papa? You look flushed," The little boy rubbed his father's hand, "You should sit down."

The sweet boy led his father to a wooden bench, making the azure butterfly flutter away. Mathieu watched his father stare into space. It worried him.

"Papa? Papa, are you alright?" He shook Francis' shoulder.

Francis tried to reassure his son, but only a small cry escaped. He cleared his throat, "Would you like to take a vacation to a new place?"

"I suppose so, Papa…" Mathieu was surprised by the odd question.

"I know you want to see Canada, but perhaps England… should be your first step to… traveling." Francis couldn't imagine living without his little angel.

"Oh, Papa," Mathieu chuckled, "You are not making sense. I want to stay right here with you. I also have lots of schooling ahead of me, remember?"

o~~~~~o~~~~~o~~~~~o

Francis pulled the night gown over Mathieu's head. He squished the boy's rosy cheeks and gave him an Eskimo kiss. The boy giggled and curled up by his stuffed brown teddy bear that he called Tokoda. Francis sat on the edge of his bed, longing to come up with some way to prepare his little Mathieu for all of this.

"Mathieu, you must start packing for your trip to England," Francis thought he was off to good start, "You—"

"Papa, I am not going to England, remember? I am staying with you. Here. In France." The little child yawned and pulled his teddy bear close to him.

"The plans are already made (sort of). We must decide on what you shall take." Francis rubbed his temples.

"Silly, Papa… Good night, Tokoda… Good night, Papa…" The boy drifted off into sleep without a care in the world.

While the boy slept soundly, Francis paced around the room. His mind was in jumbles. England wasn't the richest country. They didn't have what Mathieu deserved. Mathieu never acted spoiled, non! He was grateful, thoughtful, considerate, appreciative, and everything besides spoiled. He had grown up in a difficult situation for his first years, but since Francis took custody of his son, he was able to live like the rich Frenchman, too. They loved each other and shared an unbreakable bond.

He sighed, and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. Francis crept around his mansion, not to disturb his servants and people of such. They, too, loved Mathieu. He knew they wouldn't be able to bear the loss of Mathieu either. From an old closet, he retrieved a traveling bag made of suede leather. The sad man brought it back to his son's room. Francis packed it with coats, sleeping shorts, gowns, socks, leggings, caps, shirts, trousers, pants pants pants, and every article of clothing he might need. It was becoming a heavy bag. Francis tucked a small pouch of euros in there too. And a soft blanket. And Mathieu's favorite book. And…

"Why am I packing bags? My son shall not leave!" Francis began unpacking the bag.

o~~~~~o~~~~~o~~~~~o

"Oh, Francis!" Arthur tossed his bags to the Frenchman's servants, "I have arrived!"

Francis took slow, cautious steps down a staircase to meet his uninvited guest. His little boy was still asleep in his blue pastel nightgown cuddled up with his brown-pudding teddy bear in plush bed.

"Bonjour, Arthur." Francis greeted him sadly.

"Oh, ol' chap! Don't be so down in the rubbish! It's just one little loss in game of cards, and you—"

"Arthur! Please don't take my son! He is more valuable than everything else I own! Don't take him from me!"

Flustered, Arthur spoke calmly, "Well, I did win the game. The stakes were the loser's most valuable possession."

"Nononon!" Francis begged, "Do not take him! He is not a possession!"

"Papa?" The angel held his teddy bear and rubbed his eyes. Mathieu peered over the banister, "Who is he, Papa?"

Both men looked up at the boy. _I see why he is so protective of that child, he is so cute, _Arthur thought, _But he shall be Francis' fall,_ he mused. Mathieu made wary steps to his papa who sat on the floor with flowing tears.

"Papa, all is okay," He hoped the stranger would not hear him.

Arthur instructed servants to take his and Mathieu's bags to his coach. Francis pounded on the floor, having a tantrum.

"Here, lad. I am Arthur." He held his hand out to the boy, ignoring the full-grown man weeping on the rugs.

"M-m-mathieu. I am Mathieu…" Mathieu turned away from Arthur and came to his father's side and hugged him.

"My beautiful, gorgeous son…" Francis looked up at his son, "My little Mathieu…"


	2. Scented Tokoda

Francis couldn't bear to tell his son that he must go with scary-browed man forever because he had a bad hand of cards ten years ago. The servants of the mansion had been ordered to stay away from the threesome by Arthur. Little Mathieu didn't understand. He couldn't understand.

"Pa-Papa?" Mathieu gently touched his weeping father, "What is happening?"

"I love you, Mathieu. I always will." Francis wiped a tear from his eye.

Confused, Mathieu hugged his father. He tried to comfort both of them. Francis lifted a lock of his son's beautiful hair. It was so soft, so new, like it was the hair of an angel. Of course it was the hair of an angel. Mathieu was an angel to him.

"Mathieu, my son, forgive me." Francis cried. He embraced his son and gave him a weak Eskimo kiss.

"Papa, I forgive you~" Mathieu didn't need to know what his father had done wrong.

"You heard him, Francis." Arthur interrupted them, "Come on, lad. The coachman is waiting."

"What?" Mathieu asked harshly and looked up at the Englishman.

Both men were surprised. Francis had never heard him say anything like that! Arthur reached for the boy's hand. He led him out of the door of the house. Mathieu looked over his shoulder to his father. The door closed.

o~~~~~o~~~~~o~~~~~o

The door of the coach closed. He sat opposite of the side Arthur was sitting at. When the child realized his papa was not coming, he began to weep. He was scared of this man! And his father wasn't there for him!

"Dear, lad, do not shed a tear!" _Not on this expensive material, please!_

"I-I want my Papa!" The boy whispered while he cried.

"Do you not want to live with me in England?" Arthur asked, trying to get him to stop getting salty water on the cushions.

Mathieu posed the famous question, "Who are you?"

o~~~~~o~~~~~o~~~~~o

"My boy! My poor boy!" Francis lay sprawled on the floor of the foyer, "He's stuck with that evil Kirkland man. It's all my fault! I knew I should've tricked that deck that night…"

He dragged himself up to his son's room. It smelled like the child. It smelled like soft roses, mellow honey, and wispy lemons. Francis walked around the room aimlessly. He didn't mean to trip over his own feet and land in Mathieu's bed. His face was full of fur. Even Tokoda smelled like Mathieu. Of course he did. He was the source of the sweet scents Mathieu always carried.

"T-Tokoda..?" Francis' eyes widened as he realized that Arthur was dragging his son across Europe and Mathieu didn't have Tokoda with him.

"I'm coming my angel!" Francis shouted to the world as he ran out of his mansion hugging the teddy bear closely.

o~~~~~o~~~~~o~~~~~o

"TOKODA!" Mathieu rocked the carriage with his wails of sadness, "I WANT MY PAPA! I WANT TOKODA!" If he couldn't have Papa, then he had to have Tokoda.

"Hush, lad! Hush! (You are attracting bandits, you dimwit!)" Arthur rubbed his temples.

o~~~~~o~~~~~o~~~~~o

Francis sprinted down the road. After a few seconds he was winded and could not take another step. He gasped for breath and held Tokoda in front of him. _Poor, poor Mathieu..._ Francis had to figure out some way to get Mathieu back, or at least give him his teddy bear. He walked as fast as he could back to his house without passing out. There had to be some way to do something about all of this.

The distressed father knew going after them was futile. They were long gone going north. In no time they'd be sailing to England. Francis sat in his study, thinking as hard as he could to somehow get his son back. Okay, maybe they weren't that far north. If he got into a coach he could probably catch up. But sometimes peasant coachmen were slow, and a good coachmen was no where on the estate.

Francis fell out of his chair with realization. Arthur was deathly afraid of thugs and bandits. He'd never travel at night! He'd probably spend the night in various inns and guest houses. He knocked all of the silly coachmen and catching up thoughts out of head. Francis had a plan. Papa Francis was going to be the hero!

"First, I shall have my best horse saddled up," Francis started to stuff documents into his satchel, "Then I will ridd in the darkest hourse of the night," He laced his shoe, "The nearest, cheapest inn isn't too far. They will be staying there for the night, most definetly."

He felt new energy in him. He was going to take back his son. Francis reentered his son's room. A new wave of grief, guilt, depression washed over him. He could not tell his servants and maids of what had happened. He could not ask for his boy back. He could not undo the past. So he lay in the nest of plush quilts. The scent of lemons and cream wafted through the air. Francis picked up Mathieu's teddy bear from the floor and held it closely. There was nothing he could do.

o~~~~~o~~~~~o~~~~~o

There was nothing Arthur could do to shut the boy up. He cried and cried and cried and cried even more. Arthur faced the facts, he'd have to replace those lovelycushions that were now stained with saltwater. He sighed. What could he do? He was teaching that Francis a lesson. Do not mess with an Englishman in a game of cards. Arthur's pride was too big to return the boy to his father. He was going to keep Matthew and shape him into a noble Englasher.

"Dear, lad... do not cry." Arthur awkwardly tried to comfort him, "Matthew, pleaselook at me."

"My name is-is Mathiue..."


End file.
